How to love a girl who can't love herself. by lupus-astra, literature
Literature
How to love a girl who can't love herself.
one.
When she cries herself to sleep
six out of seven nights a week you must
say nothing. You must simply take
her in your arms and kiss her gaunt,
pale cheeks and wait for her to
slumber at the sound of your heart.
two.
On the days where she wishes she
were part of the stars, tell her
no. Tell her that there are too many
lights in the sky and that just one
would be forgotten the moment you looked
away from it. Tell her that she is perfect
the way she is: completely human.
three.
Don't let her think about the scars
that no one but her can see. If she
says
Anxieties of a Conflicted Introvert by Pencil-Wolf, literature
Literature
Anxieties of a Conflicted Introvert
I.
[i don’t want to
have to tell you i’m
sorry
again but
lately it’s been tough.
And i’m stricken with this feeling that
maybe i’m not good enough.]
run.
you see, somewhere out there
birds are looking for nests and birds
are finding them in the ribcages of souls but i
am tired of picking straw from my heart
and strings and hair that wrap around my fingers i’m—
[well sometimes i’m a little lonely
but i never wanted to tell you that]
escape.
--tired of seeing the ball i wind from
those leftover nests grow and grow—
[and i want more, want more,
Looking With Your Hands by DyskoDelThunderback, literature
Literature
Looking With Your Hands
Everyone’s been there. As a child, your mom would take you to Wal-Mart, Target, or, if you lived near rich people as a kid, Toys-R-Us. Anywhere with toys. And being a child, you wanted to pick them up, play with them, put them in the buggy in hopes that your mom would buy them. Heck, at that age, you didn’t get the concept of money or buying things with money. You just wanted to play with it. And you wanted Mom to let you take it out of the store. If she said no, some of the braver ones among you would sneak it in the buggy anyway. Maybe mom didn’t notice. Maybe she did and bought it anyway.
But typically, what would happen
away
i'm going to break away
drain
i'm
in
the
drain
of
drains
and
slowly
being
spun
downwards
and
downwards
and
downwards
and
down
wards.
thirteen
Mom's rose garden grew beneath the steps, and I did too. They weren't aligned and it bothered me. I always tried to fight it but she would come down and lay her hand on my bare skin and whisper, "They aren't growing."
And I would be red like the roses and blue like the violets.
She grew beneath the steps too.
past
notlookingforthepastorthe f
ARCHAEOLOGISTS CLAIM TO HAVE FOUND GOD
Archaeologists revealed in a press conference that they had unearthed an Entity of Unknown Origin (EUO) early Thursday morning when they broke open a sealed structure. Up until the archaeologists cracked it open, the structure had been untouched for nearly two thousand years. Archaeologists were unable to answer how the EUO managed to survive, or why the structure was sealed in the first place.
“This is a major discovery,” says head archaeologist Noland Grace. “Whether you’re a Christian or not, this is going to be a game changer. We found God. I
"So. You started exhibiting abilities…?"
"Um… three years ago? Yeah, three years, and it was May I think. Fourteenth or maybe sixteenth, I don't remember exactly – I just remember that it was my last semester. Yeah, three years ago, May."
"Fourteenth or sixteenth?"
"Yeah, one or the other. I remember that because I has these huge goddamn exams, you know, one was on fourteenth and other on sixteenth and it was during one of them I heard it for the first time. Can't remember which one though, just remember being a nervous wreck. I studied of course, I mean, hello, you know? But test's a test."
"Right. It started during a
i had an out-of-body experience. by laurotica, literature
Literature
i had an out-of-body experience.
I had an out-of-body experience at the age of thirty-one.
Every year between the ages of ten and eighteen, I sent a letter to NASA. I told them a little bit about myself, the same general description year after year, and always insisted that despite my medical condition, I would one day love to sail through the stars. My dream was to be out there in the universal abyss, exploring every unknown corner until we knew all that we could.
Art would taunt, “Sick kids don’t go to space” before Mom slapped the back of his shoulder with a spatula.
NASA was as nice as they could be, but the bottom line was that we all knew I could
Disposophobia
She had always kept everything. Ticket stubs, receipts, the torn-off edges of notebook paper. Any doodles or scribbled ideas, and any note afforded her by a friend were kept and saved. Not everything received the honor, but particular things from specific events did. She wanted to keep track of each and every thing she had ever done. She did so, on a corkboard encircling her room from floor to ceiling; each day had its spot, and one could trace her life along the wall with the zigzagging strings of yarn that connected each day.
She didn't often invite others into her room, for fear they might displace something, either by